Death and the Visiting Firemen

by H. R. F. Keating

  Thank you.’

  She went out.

  Wemyss looked out after her.

  ‘What in hell’s name was all that about?’ he said, walking across and flopping into one of the wide chintz-covered armchairs.

  ‘You’d better ask your friend Miss Kett,’ said the major. Kristen shook her head.

  ‘Don’t bother yourself for me,’ Wemyss said. ‘I couldn’t care less.’

  During the rest of the time Inspector Parker conducted his questioning in the little hotel office - the dustiness, the curling leather of the table, the varnished oak - they sat silent.

  Daisy was away for only four minutes. She came back and sat down where she had been before without a word. Kristen, huddled now in her huge chair, did not even glance up at her. Even when Schelmberger, the last to leave, returned and said the inspector saw no reason for them to stay any longer Kristen sat on. Her face was pale again, her eyes without sparkle.

  On his way to bed Smithers saw the avuncular constable whom Parker had stationed outside Peter’s room sitting on a tall hard chair, his legs pushed out a little in front of him, surreptitiously.

  ‘The inspector said I was to call you if the kiddie cried or anything,’ the constable said. ‘I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘He said me, not Miss Miller?’ Smithers asked.

  ‘Yes sir. I suppose her being an actress he didn’t think she’d know much about youngsters.’

  ‘I suppose so. Though I am more accustomed to them at fourteen or more when tears have to be concealed. At eight it’s a different matter.’

  ‘I took a look in, half an hour ago,’ the constable said, ‘he was sleeping like a babe then. He’ll be all right.’

  ‘Yes I think so. Good night’

  ‘Good night, sir.’

  Broad blue-uniformed shoulders eased against the sharp back of the chair.

  When Smithers came past again an hour before breakfast next morning the chair was not occupied. He tried the door of Peter’s room. It was unlocked. Inside the boy still slept. The pillow round his head smooth and uncrushed.

  Smithers walked out of the inn and headed for the country. He stepped out at an even pace along roads where there were occasional signs of the start of the day. Cows going back from milking, the windows of a cottage being opened.

  As he turned to go back in the direction of the hotel he heard the roar of a heavy engine and glanced ahead to see whether there was anywhere for him to step off the road. But before he had gone another three paces, from behind a tall clump of elms a helicopter appeared, moving slowly, clumsily, ominously.

  Smithers stood and watched it as the roar of its engines deafened him. The machine was only some twenty feet from the ground, in it were three men, a pilot at the controls, another man in Air Force uniform holding a map at arm’s length, and Inspector Parker.

  He must have seen Smithers at the same moment as Smithers saw him. His start of surprise was clearly visible. He turned and spoke to the pilot. The machine rose suddenly to twice its previous height, and then drifted slowly down to the field at the edge of which Smithers stood.

  ‘You’re out early,’ the inspector called to Smithers.

  ‘And you’re up high,’ Smithers said as the inspector reached the other side of the hedge.

  ‘Well, I suppose you know what we’re doing, but I wonder what you’re doing?’

  ‘Walking. And as for your flying I can put two and two together. No doubt your quarry will think it’s unsporting.’

  ‘Unsporting? Has young Peter been saying any more?’

  ‘No, we prefer not to speak of it much. That’s simply my own impression.’

  ‘To be taken at its face value?’

  ‘How else?’ said Smithers.

  ‘As a move in a game,’ the inspector said. ‘But I intend to catch my chicken first. Then I’ll judge for myself.’

  He turned to walk back to the helicopter.

  ‘I never thought you would do otherwise,’ Smithers said.

  Over his shoulder the inspector called:

  ‘Did you know these things were invented by Leonardo da Vinci?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did,’ said Smithers.

  But his words were drowned by the increasing roar of the machine’s engine. The inspector heaved himself aboard, and in a moment was hovering twenty feet above Smithers’s head again.

  The helicopter flew on. Smithers watched it for a few minutes moving forwards and backwards left and right over the countryside.

  He turned his eyes from the blue morning sky to the ground at his feet. Among the tangled stems of grasses ants were busily criss-crossing their way to some place important to themselves.

  He was five minutes late for breakfast. But instead of going into the dining-room at once he went up to Peter’s room again. He found him spooning water from his hand on to his golliwog hair.

  ‘Good morning,’ Smithers said, ‘and how do you feel this morning, my lad?’

  ‘All right, thank you,’ said Peter. ‘Was it silly of me last night?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Smithers. ‘Though as a matter of fact it now looks as though the person didn’t mean to harm you but just to give the appearance of doing so.’

  ‘Then that’s all right,’ said the boy.

  He looked at himself in the mirror, and struck at his hair with the brush another two or three times.

  Smithers inspected the wash basin.

  ‘I see you’ve done your hair,’ he said. ‘But did you do anything else?’

  ‘Well, no, I didn’t,’ said Peter. ‘You see first of all I thought I might have to stay in here all day to be safe. Then when you told me it was all right, I didn’t think it was worth going back to wash.’

  ‘That’s scamping,’ said Smithers.

  Peter began to wash, and went on with increasing thoroughness. They went downstairs together.

  ‘By the way,’ Smithers said at the door of the dining-room, ‘I saw Inspector Parker up in a helicopter this morning.’

  ‘A helicopter? Pretty super. What was ...’

  The cold douche.

  ‘It’s no different really, you know,’ Smithers said. ‘That’s what makes the inspector such a good detective: he doesn’t scamp.’

  ‘Is he really a good detective?’ asked the boy.

  ‘Very good. Except for one thing, I should say.’

  ‘But not as good as you, sir.’

  ‘I happen to be a schoolmaster. You remember that.’

  ‘Yes, but you do know who did it, don’t you? And the inspector doesn’t.’

  ‘We don’t know what the inspector knows, and neither of us can act until we have proof.’

  ‘Will you have proof soon, sir?’

  ‘Now why should an ancient old schoolmaster be able to find proof of who committed a murder?’

  ‘You will though, sir, won’t you?’

  ‘If you promise never to think of me as a detective again, I’ll tell you something.’

  ‘I do promise, sir, really I do.’

  ‘All right, I’ll accept that, a little against my better judgement. I have begun to get proof, but only begun.’

  ‘Then I don’t care if the mouldy old ‘copter does find Dad,’ said Peter.

  ‘I thought you were entitled to a little moral support,’ said Smithers, opening the dining-room door.

  ‘You’ve got to hand it to the inspector,’ Schlemberger was saying. ‘He doesn’t hesitate to use the latest equipment. A helicopter’s pretty thorough.’

  ‘Have you heard this latest development, Mr Smithers?’ said Wemyss.

  He leant back in his chair and looked fixedly at Smithers, at the same time waving a half-eaten piece of toast in his right hand.

  ‘I saw the machine earlier on,’ said Smithers. ‘Now, Peter, what are you going to eat?’

  Wemyss looked at the boy for an instant and then put his toast back on the plate and helped himself to more marmalade. There was already a pile on his plate.<
br />
  ‘Let the boy choose his own breakfast,’ said Major Mortenson.

  Exasperation.

  There was two seconds’ absolute silence.

  Then Daisy said:

  ‘Good morning, major. So you’ve joined us at last.’

  ‘Joined you? What do you mean?’ asked the major.

  He shook his head. The dog from the river.

  ‘That was the first word we’ve had out of you,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Damnably rude of me. Truth is I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘You’ve got butter on The Times, too,’ said Daisy, ‘only I didn’t like to tell you before.’

  The major hoisted the open sheets of the paper into the air till he could see the large smear of grease across the back.

  ‘Damn and blast,’ he said.

  The paper landed in a shapeless mess on the floor behind him.

  ‘Why the hell have people got to keep on interfering?’ he said.

  The remark was not addressed to Daisy.

  No one offered to reply.

  The major cut savagely at a flabby piece of toast. It resisted his efforts.

  Abruptly he banged his knife down on the plate and, turning to look directly at Smithers, he said:

  ‘You’re an interfering old maid, sir. You’ve been causing trouble and annoyance ever since Hamyadis’s death, and your actions yesterday brought untold distress to a lady unable to defend herself.’

  Smithers picked up a letter lying beside his place and began to open it.

  Everyone else had stopped eating and all were looking silently from the major to Smithers and back again.

  ‘He isn’t an interfering old maid.’

  Peter.

  Totally unexpected. The note of boyish indignation.

  ‘Now, Peter, this is something you would be better to ignore,’ Smithers said.

  ‘But, sir, you’re not an old maid.’

  The boy turned to the others.

  ‘He’s a super detective,’ he said.

  No one spoke.

  Then Richard Wemyss laughed.

  ‘Oh, yes he is,’ said the boy. ‘I’ll prove it to you. Who do you think it was who snatched the mystery package from you when you had pinched it from the coach? It was Mr Smithers, so there.’

  Fifteen

  Round the table after the noisiness of the major’s attack on Smithers, sudden watchfulness. Silence.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Daisy, ‘I can’t even remember what it was you said now, Peter, and I don’t think you had better repeat it. It seems to have been some sort of a revelation, and I haven’t the least hope of ever knowing why.’

  ‘Do you propose to hand me back that packet?’ Wemyss said to Smithers.

  No hint of overtones.

  ‘I think it was not addressed to you?’ Smithers said.

  ‘Oh, sir,’ said Peter. ‘I forgot. I forgot everything you said. I forgot about you being a schoolmaster and not a detective and I forgot about having to have a secret about the letter.’

  ‘I don’t think any great harm has been done,’ said Smithers. ‘In fact I was probably a bit over-timid about things. It’s almost always best to speak out.’

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’

  ‘Yes. You see, we all understand each other a little better now. I told you I was no detective, and that’s certainly true. But I hesitated to tell other people that I had had to take an active role in this affair in my own defence. And that was probably wrong. Now I suggest we might go for a walk in the town.’

  ‘Smithers,’ Fremitt said, ‘could I have a word with you before you leave the hotel?’

  ‘Peter, I’ll meet you in twenty minutes at the front door,’ Smithers said.

  Fremitt led him to the lounge without a word.

  ‘It’s a matter of some difficulty,’ he said as he opened the door.

  He gave Smithers his quick smile, and then abruptly looked theatrically sombre.

  ‘Anything I can do, I’m only too happy,’ Smithers said.

  ‘Mr Smithers.’

  From a deep armchair with its back towards the door, Kristen, who had gone into the room as soon as she left the breakfast table and had been sitting with her legs tucked under her, jumped up. She looked more animated again. A faint flush of colour on her cheeks. A litheness of movement.

  ‘Mr Smithers, I was just thinking about you. Isn’t this a piece of luck?’

  ‘That’s very flattering,’ Smithers said, ‘but I’m afraid Fremitt and I have a little business to conduct. Perhaps I may see you in the course of the morning?’

  ‘No, don’t go,’ Kristen said. T - I’ve actually got something to say to you, something quite important. Mr Fremitt can hear too, if he wants. He’s a friend.’

  Smithers glanced at Fremitt.

  ‘As long as I can see you for just a few minutes before you go out,’ Fremitt said, ‘otherwise it’s of no consequence.’

  ‘Are you going out?’ Kristen said.

  ‘I was going to take young Peter for a walk round the town,’ Smithers said. ‘I don’t want him to see too much of this helicopter. So a knowledge of history will prove to have a practical use, and we’ll have a conducted tour.’

  ‘It must be wonderful to know about the past like that,’ Kristen said. ‘Winchester is very old, isn’t it?’

  ‘In parts,’ said Smithers.

  ‘I thought it was. I haven’t been into the town much. I seem to have spent most of my time up in my room, but I thought I saw a lot of old buildings. Do you know all about them?’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Smithers said. ‘I merely hope to be able to distract the boy for a morning.’

  ‘Now you’re being modest,’ said Kristen. ‘I bet if you wanted to you could go on for hours about it all. I’m keen on it too, you know. I was in one of those historical films once. It was before I made my name, of course. But it was pretty fascinating, I can tell you. All about the French Revolution. Could I come with you this morning, do you think?’

  ‘I’m afraid you wouldn’t find Winchester as interesting as the French Revolution,’ Smithers said. ‘But I mustn’t keep Fremitt here waiting. You had something you wanted to say to me?’

  ‘Oh, well, I did,’ said Kristen. ‘But perhaps I ought to wait till I feel I know you a bit better. I’ll tell you after our walk, shall I?’

  ‘If you would prefer me to go,’ Fremitt said. ‘I have to finish reading the paper, I’ll sit in the hall.’

  ‘It’s not really anything I couldn’t tell you,’ Kristen said. ‘Only somehow I don’t want to say it in public, as you might say.’

  ‘I perfectly understand,’ Fremitt said. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes, Smithers.’

  He left them.

  Kristen walked across the room and sat on a small sofa tucked into a corner.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ she said.

  Smithers looked at the other chairs dotted about the room and went and joined her on the sofa.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Relax, make yourself comfortable. It’s nice to be able to take things easy once in a way, isn’t it?’

  She humped herself round so that she was half-lying sprawled across the sofa.

  Smithers smiled.

  ‘Is this the way they conduct business in the film studios?’ he said. ‘No wonder my boys complain that they can’t afford to go to the pictures very often.’

  ‘But this isn’t business,’ said Kristen. ‘You are a funny man. Everything doesn’t have to be serious, you know.’

  ‘I daresay I’m a bit set in my ways,’ Smithers said. ‘But you did ask me to join you to discuss something that was quite important.’

  ‘Well, I have got something quite important to tell you,’ Kristen said.

  She turned and smiled at him. Slowly.

  ‘But give me a chance,’ she said. ‘I told old John it was a bit difficult for me.’

  ‘Old John?’

  ‘Mr Fremitt. He said I was to call him John once, a
nd then asked me not to do it in public. He’s another funny old stick if you like.’

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Oh dear, perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. But I can’t help it you know. When something comes into my head, out it pops. You must have noticed.’

  ‘I can’t say that I have.’

  ‘That’s because I haven’t been my real self. Not ever since poor old Georgie copped it.’

  ‘It’s true’, Smithers said, ‘that we had had very little opportunity of getting to know one another before that event.’

  Kristen swung herself towards him. She was wearing a tight blouse, buttoned low and tucked hard into the top of her skirt emphasizing the figure.

  ‘That’s exactly what I feel,’ she said. ‘It was too awful all this happening. We could have been such friends, you and I. I know you’re a lot older, but I feel we’re both interested in the same things, the past and all that.’

  ‘I was thinking rather more in terms of the whole party,’ Smithers said. ‘We were the barest acquaintances before we were all thrown together into this situation where we were bound to mistrust one another.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Kristen said.

  In spite of the rebuff she kept her position leaning near to Smithers.

  ‘I don’t know about that. I don’t think we all of us mistrust everybody. You can tell about some people, I’m sure of that. I don’t distrust you, for instance, not one little bit. I’ll prove it to you.’

  Smithers recognized a whiff of the scent he had smelt first in the coach house then on the inspector’s cards.

  ‘Look,’ Kristen said, ‘you’ve got my packet of letters, haven’t you? Well, I don’t mind. It’s in safe hands. That’s all that worries me. I’m much happier for you to have it and us to be friends than for me to have it and not to have anyone I feel I can turn to.’

  She put her hand on to Smithers’s.

  ‘Let me give you some advice,’ said Smithers.

  He made no attempt to move his hand.

  ‘Would you?’ Kristen said. ‘That’s what I’ve wanted all this time. Someone who could tell me what was the sensible thing to do. I’m all on my own.’

  ‘I’m afraid my advice is going to seem hard then,’ Smithers said. ‘It’s simply that you can’t afford to trust anyone in our party. Neither myself nor anyone else. No one has been exculpated. Any one of us might be a murderer.’